He followed her gaze, landing exactly on the iron box left by Aila.
He didn’t understand the intricate workings of a young woman’s heart, but his logical system provided the most direct correlation: she saw the box, so she was unhappy.
Solution: Dispose of the source of her unhappiness.
And so, under Moyin’s complex gaze, Shen Luolin stood up and walked straight toward it.
Moyin’s heart sank abruptly.
He was going to take that box.
The moment that thought appeared, the flickering flames in the fireplace seemed to lose their warmth.
Was he thinking of that woman, or perhaps the scent of the Imperial Capital?
Her fingertips gripped the edge of the animal skin blanket, the roughness of the fabric scraping against her skin.
She could almost hear her heart falling into an ice cellar, one beat after another, heavy and slow.
She watched as Shen Luolin bent down and picked up the exquisite iron box.
He didn’t even give it a second look. With a clean, decisive motion, he flipped the lid open and turned his wrist—
Clatter.
Those translucent, incredibly expensive-looking candied plums were dumped into the fireplace without the slightest hesitation.
They fell into the flames with a soft sizzling sound. A sickly sweet fragrance flashed through the air before being replaced by the smell of burning.
It was as if he were clearing away a piece of troublesome trash that should have been discarded long ago.
Moyin’s breath came to a complete standstill at that moment.
She stared blankly at him, watching the plums curl and turn black in the fire, her mind a total void.
However, Shen Luolin did not stop.
He emptied the box that represented “Aila,” then walked back to her and took the birch carving he had just teased her about.
He didn’t put it in directly.
Instead, he pulled a clean, soft chamois cloth from his coat—one he usually used to wipe his dagger. That cloth had been with him for a long time; its edges were worn, yet it was well-maintained. He used this cloth to carefully wrap the clumsy wooden carving in layer after layer, his movements as focused as if he were handling a rare treasure.
Finally, he placed this solemnly wrapped carving as the sole, central occupant into the iron box that had just been cleared of all traces of “Aila.”
“Click.”
The lid was gently closed.
One emptied, one filled.
A world belonging to Aila was completely discarded, while a clumsy world belonging to her was solemnly collected.
Shen Luolin perhaps didn’t think there was any special meaning to this action; he simply felt that the iron box was sturdy and perfect for protecting this fragile little trinket.
But this unintentional act, born purely of pragmatism, was in Moyin’s eyes a most grand and resonant silent declaration.
Time seemed to stretch infinitely in that moment.
Moyin just looked at him, at the closed iron box, and at the “ugly thing” of hers kept inside.
The ice thorn that had been driven into the deepest part of her heart—the sharpest one that tortured her day and night, named “inferiority” and “being an outsider”—was completely melted and evaporated by his burning actions in this moment, leaving not a single trace behind.
A massive wave of happiness and love, enough to almost drown her entire being, made her body tremble uncontrollably.
The heart in her chest beat so fast and heavy it felt as if it might break through her ribs in the next second.
Her eyes were hot, but she didn’t want to cry.
Crying was a release, an act of weakness. At this moment, she only wanted to attack, to possess.
She looked at the man’s still expressionless profile as he tucked the iron box back into his coat, his movements as natural as if he were just tidying his clothes.
In this moment, for the first time, Moyin felt so clearly that her world was no longer that desolate snowfield, but this man before her who had emptied the entire world for her.
She suddenly stood up from the animal skin blanket.
Shen Luolin sensed the movement and turned his head, about to ask something, only to find those silver eyes shining with a startling brilliance.
Moyin stepped right in front of him.
Before Shen Luolin had time to react, she reached out with trembling hands, grabbed the collar of his shirt, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him fiercely.
It couldn’t even be called a kiss; it was more like a clumsy and violent collision.
His lips were cooler than she imagined, carrying the scent of the crisp air from the snowfields.
Shen Luolin froze entirely.
Those eyes of his, which were always filled with calmness and calculation, widened slightly in shock. He was still clutching the white cloth used to wipe his bow, standing there as if under a paralysis spell, his mind completely crashing. That proud logical system capable of analyzing everything collapsed instantly in the face of the soft sensation on his lips, unable to generate even a single line of error code.
Moyin didn’t stay for long, pulling away as soon as they touched.
She took half a step back, her chest heaving violently. Her cheeks were so red they looked as if they might bleed, yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of retreat in her silver eyes. Instead, they were filled with provocation and the smile of someone who had succeeded in their plot.
She looked at his struck-by-lightning, defeated expression, watching as a flush spread uncontrollably from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.
Moyin finally couldn’t help but laugh out loud, clear and joyful.
“Master, the way you blush is even cuter than the wooden man I carved.”
—
Meanwhile.
Outside the ruins Moyin had named “Returning Snow,” at the entrance of the valley.
The blizzard raged even more violently than in previous days, swirling the snow on the ground into white walls of wind that threatened to swallow heaven and earth.
Aila stood beside a sled, her deep blue dress standing out strikingly against the pure white surroundings. She raised her hand, looking at an alchemy device shaped like a compass in her palm. The needle in the center of the device pointed fixedly at zero.
The recovery potion she had specifically left in the supply crate—the one with tracking and monitoring functions—had not consumed a single drop of energy.
This meant that Shen Luolin hadn’t used it at all.
Were his injuries already healed, making it unnecessary?
Or… had he discovered something?
Aila’s gaze turned cold.
“Captain, the blizzard is too strong! We can’t go any further!” a knight reported loudly, fighting against the wind.
Aila put away the alchemy device. Her voice was somewhat broken by the wind, yet it still carried an undeniable command.
“Seal off all exits to the valley. No one is to enter or leave without my order.”
“But, you…”
Aila paid no more attention to her subordinate’s concerns.
She took a small pack from the sled and, alone, walked into the depths of the valley, braving the wind and snow that could tear a person apart.
Her steps were firm and steady, as if this blizzard capable of devouring everything was nothing more than a light breeze in the gardens of the Imperial Capital.
She had to personally confirm it.
Confirm that her Major was safe and sound.
And… clear away any “troubles” that might cause him to deviate from his path.
The wind and snow whipped her skirts, but on that eternally calm face of hers, there was not a hint of emotion.